Abandoned & Protected: The Marquis' Tenacious Wife

by Bree Wolf

  Turning toward the door, Henrietta ignored her aunt’s hurt face. “Yes, Harrison, what is it?”

  “You have a visitor, Miss.”

  Henrietta frowned. A visitor? Who could possibly want to see her?

  “The Duchess of Cromwell,” Harrison elaborated. “She is waiting in the back parlour.”

  Henrietta swallowed. “Thank you.”

  Harrison nodded and left.

  “Did you send word to her?” Aunt Clara asked, apparently having recovered from her niece’s insulting comment.

  “I did not,” Henrietta answered her, never the less, her feet carried her out the door and down the staircase.

  Apart from Tristan, Anna was the closest she had to family, and no matter what had happened between them, Henrietta wanted to see her before she would be shipped off to marry a barbarian from the North. Who knew if they would ever see each other again?

  As Henrietta entered the parlour, she found her friend facing the tall windows that opened the room to the gardens. Her fiery hair pinned in the back, Anna sighed, and for a moment, her eyes closed and a hint of sadness fell over her face.

  Swallowing, Henrietta stepped forward. “It has been a long time.”

  Spinning around, Anna met her eyes, and a deep smile came to her face. “It has,” she whispered, taking a careful step forward. “It has been too long.” She swallowed, then took a deep breath. “I have missed you.”

  Feeling her resolve waver, Henrietta exhaled deeply before her lips pressed into a thin line. “What brings you here today?”

  A hint of disappointment came to Anna’s eyes, and Henrietta felt a stab of guilt. She knew Anna did not deserve to be treated like the enemy, and yet, Henrietta could not help herself. Her world was black and white; either someone was with her or against her. There was no in-between.

  “I heard your news,” Anna began, a compassionate smile on her face before she shrugged her shoulders. “I couldn’t just let you leave without seeing you again.”

  Taking a deep breath, Henrietta nodded. “Now, you’ve seen me.”

  A frown came to Anna’s face, and she sighed, exasperation giving volume to her voice. “Henrietta, please! Do not act as though this does not affect you. I am your friend. Whether you believe it or not, I am your friend. And I know you better than anyone.” Anna came forward, her gaze drilling into Henrietta’s. “Talk to me.”

  Feeling tears threaten, Henrietta straightened her posture, reminding herself not to falter. “There is nothing to say.”

  “Do you love him?” Anna asked without preamble.

  Henrietta’s eyes went wide, and her insides twisted as though she had received a punch to the stomach. “If you know me as well as you say, then you know that I did not choose this.”

  Anna nodded. “I thought so, but I had to know.” Again, she searched her friend’s face. “Then how did this happen?”

  “Does it matter?”

  Rolling her eyes, Anna rested her hands on her sides. “Henrietta, you either tell me what happened or I’ll find out from your uncle!”

  Henrietta drew in a sharp breath, and her eyes narrowed.

  “Aha!” Anna exclaimed. “He is threatening you, isn’t he? How?”

  Sighing, Henrietta closed her eyes. Then she walked around her friend and sat down on the settee, her legs trembling with the burden she carried. “He says he will send me from his house if I do not marry the marquis.”

  Coming to sit beside her, Anna gasped, “What? He wouldn’t!”

  “Yes, he would.”

  Observing her closely, Anna sighed. “You will not fight him on this, will you?”

  Henrietta shook her head.

  “Why?”

  Even if she could have put into words what ached in her heart, Henrietta would never have shown weakness so openly. Not even to a friend. For only the strong survive.

  “Who is he?” Anna asked.

  Lifting her head, Henrietta met her eyes. “I thought you knew.”

  “I know his name, but who is he? Did he ask for your hand? Or did your uncle sell you off?”

  Henrietta scoffed. “I thought you didn’t believe him capable of such a thing.”

  “I do.” Anna shrugged. “I just didn’t want to believe it. So?”

  Licking her lips, Henrietta said, “I met him once. Actually, he found me,” she shook her head, “out in the woods. I was…practising.” For a second, Anna seemed confused before her eyes went wide and she nodded. “Although I was disguised as a man, somehow he knew I was a woman. I don’t know how.”

  “And?” Anna urged.

  “And nothing,” Henrietta said, shrugging her shoulders. “He suggested that he would find out who I was and betray my secret. I didn’t think he could or even would, not until the day he came to see my uncle.” She shook her head. “I don’t know why though.” She scoffed, meeting Anna’s gaze. “Isn’t it strange how similar our lives suddenly are? You received a proposal from a man you hardly knew for a reason you didn’t know, and although you wouldn’t have accepted him, you, too, had your reasons to do so. I suppose my time has come after all.”

  “What did you think of him?” Anna asked.

  “What does it matter?” Henrietta snorted. “He is a brute, a far cry from a gentleman.”

  Anna smiled. “Gentlemen have many faces. If anything, my marriage taught me not to judge people too quickly. If you keep an open mind, you might even like him.”

  Henrietta laughed. “I thought you knew me. So, how likely do you believe that to be?”

  Although Anna tried her best to convince Henrietta that her future was not lost, Henrietta knew that her personality and the events that had formed it and made her the woman she was today would not allow her to enter into this marriage with a hopeful heart. She would not change, could not, and just like her uncle, her husband would come to think of her as disrespectful and antagonistic, and he would hate her for it. Who knew what he would do once that happened?

  Again, Henrietta saw her mother’s lifeless body on the floor of the hunting cottage, a bruise darkening her left eye, a bruise that hadn’t even had the chance to heal.

  Despite a sense of regret that settled in her chest, Henrietta bade Anna farewell without even trying to mend the relationship that had meant so much to both of them. The time had not yet come. If it ever would, Henrietta didn’t know.

  Walking through the house, the only home she had ever known, Henrietta whispered her goodbyes, certain she would never return. When she came by the library, her uncle’s voice drifted to her ears, and she stopped before stepping into view, listening.

  “He is a marquis. I do not understand your objections,” her uncle hissed, a hint of anger hardening his voice.

  Her aunt drew a deep breath. “He is a foreigner. His ways are not like ours. What if he hurts her?”

  “As long as she acts the dutiful wife, I doubt that will happen,” her uncle replied, sounding distracted as though he was only listening with half an ear.

  Henrietta was not surprised.

  “You know her,” Aunt Clara pointed out, a tinge of worry clouding her voice.

  Her uncle chuckled. “Then maybe she’ll learn the lessons I failed to teach her.”

  “But−”

  “No!” Her uncle’s voice had lost all patience. “Do not question my decision! If he is fool enough to ask for her hand, do not expect me to be the fool who denies it to him. The matter is settled. We leave for Scotland in two days.”

  Exhausted, Henrietta leaned against the wall and closed her eyes.

  A dutiful wife?

  That, she would never be.

  Chapter Six − An English Lass Come to Scotland

  Pacing the downstairs parlour of Castle Greyston, Connor stopped at the window again and again, gazing out at the lush, green hills that stretched toward the horizon. He squinted his eyes; however, all the movement he could detect belonged to a group of deer flying across the fields and vanishing in the thick underbrush of the
forest.

  “What are ye doing here?”

  Growling under his breath, Connor turned to face his cousin.

  Eyes narrowed, Alastair watched him with a hint of calculation, his gaze sweeping Connor’s face and posture as though to determine whether or not it would be wise to say more. “Ye look troubled, Chief.”

  Connor drew in a deep breath as he detected a touch of displeasure in his cousin’s voice at the formal address. He had hoped that his journey to England would allow Alastair to settle into the new situation. After all, neither one of them had had a choice in the matter. “Naw, not troubled,” he replied, doing his best to sound unaffected by the sudden tension between them. “Excited. D’ye not remember the day before yer wedding? As I recall, ye were quite unlike yer usual self.”

  A quick smile lit up Alastair’s face before he forced the corners of his mouth back down. “I do recall, aye.” He swallowed, and his eyes grew serious as he stepped forward. “Why did ye not speak to me about yer plan to choose an English lass though? I do not understand. As the chief of Clan Brunwood, ye need to consider yer position. Many do not approve. Are ye aware of that?”

  Connor sighed. He knew his decision had been a spur of the moment, one made without considering the effects it would have on his position in the clan. It had been quite unlike him, and he could not question his cousin’s doubts. However, Connor did not regret his decision, could not, for the mere thought of that lass in his arms sent his heart into an uproar. Whatever the consequences, he would handle them!

  Placing a hand on his cousin’s shoulder, Connor leaned down and met his eyes openly. “Would ye have married Deirdre if she had been English?”

  Alastair’s eyes grew round for a moment before a deep frown drew down his brows. “Are ye saying ye chose her for love, Cousin?”

  Connor chuckled, shaking his head. “D’ye not believe me? D’ye think me a spy of the English then?”

  Laughing, Alastair stared at him. “Not a spy, no! Maybe a bit addled in the head!” He sobered as his eyes met Connor’s once more. “Even if ye chose her for love, ye must know that her being English will make life difficult, no? Ye canna ignore the history we share. Despite the years that have passed, not all wounds are healed yet.”

  Connor nodded. “I am aware, Cousin. However, I do believe that the wounds of the past can only be healed by maintaining an open mind. What happened happened. We canna change that. But we can do our best to ensure that it willna happen again in the future. We’re not enemies.”

  “I can only hope ye’re right,” Alastair said, the look on his face, though, held doubt. “Despite our differences in the past, I hope ye can believe that I want only yer best.”

  Clasping a hand on his cousin’s shoulder, Connor nodded. “Aye, I do believe ye, and I thank ye for yer open words. Will ye promise me to always speak yer mind openly?”

  Alastair nodded. “Aye, I will.” His features softened, and a grin came to his lips. “Then tell me, Cousin, what kind of lass have ye chosen for yer bride?”

  Connor laughed. “Frankly, I do believe she will claw my eyes out the first chance she’ll get.”

  “Truly?” Alastair eyed him suspiciously. “Why exactly did ye choose her then, Cousin?”

  Connor shrugged. “I’ll be dammed if I know.”

  ***

  As her hands continued to tremble, Henrietta curled her fingers into the fabric of her skirts.

  Ever since they had set out that morning, she had felt sick to the stomach. Knowing that it was the last day of their journey north, Henrietta experienced a sense of doom fall over her. She had not only been ripped from her home, but also the world she knew, and the future that lay ahead seemed darker with each turn of the carriage’s wheels.

  “Do not worry, my dear,” her aunt said, a strained smile on her face as she glanced at the empty lands through which they travelled. “I’m certain you will find your new home to your liking.”

  “I’m certain you are right,” Henrietta mumbled before returning her gaze out the window. As much as the empty land reminded her of the distance slowly increasing between herself and the only home she had ever known, she could not meet her uncle’s eyes. Triumph gave a glow to his face that chilled her to her bones. He had always seemed cold, unaffected by her pain, but now, something else rested in his eyes that would haunt her for the rest of her life; she was sure of it.

  Lost in her misery, Henrietta blinked when the sun touched a structure appearing on the horizon.

  Greyston Castle. She thought and swallowed.

  Taking a deep breath, Henrietta watched the imposing castle grow in size, its strong walls speaking of a prison she would never escape.

  A village surrounded the walls, and smoke rose from many chimneys as the air still had a chill to it. People moved and animals stirred, their voices echoing to her ears. A mild breeze touched her cheeks as Henrietta opened the carriage’s window, and a hint of salt travelled on it, speaking of the ocean nearby.

  “Finally,” her uncle moaned, and the word sliced through Henrietta’s soul like the axe of an executioner.

  ***

  “They’re here,” Connor said as though to himself. Staring out the window, his eyes followed the carriage as it drew near. Surrounded by villagers, it soon passed through the open gate into the courtyard.

  “Then let’s welcome yer bride,” Alastair replied, and together they hurried along the corridor and down the few steps to the front hall where his family stood waiting.

  Alastair reached for his wife, Deidre, who slipped her hand through the crook of his arm, a warm smile on her face as she met his eyes.

  “Thank ye for arranging everything, Moira,” Connor said to Alastair’s younger sister. Her light-blond curls framed a strong face with piercing blue eyes, not unlike her brother’s. As he stepped forward, she held out her hand to him, and he took it, giving it a quick squeeze. “I would be lost without ye.”

  Determined eyes looked into his as she nodded, a knowing smirk on her bold features. “As long as ye know it, Connor Brunwood. As long as ye know it.”

  The doors swung open then, and Connor stepped forward as Mr. Turner and his wife, followed by his future bride, climbed the few steps and entered the front hall, escaping the light drizzle that hung in the air. While her uncle’s face spoke of victory, her aunt eyed her surroundings with suspicion.

  As Connor glanced behind them at his future wife, he was not certain how she felt as her face was trained into a disinterested mask. Connor could only guess what emotions rested beneath.

  “Welcome to Castle Greyston,” he said, his voice echoing through the grand hall. “I hope yer journey was not too arduous.”

  “Not at all,” Mr. Turner assured him as his eyes swept the assembly. His nose crinkled ever so slightly, and Connor found his initial impression of the man confirmed.

  Although polite in his manners and generous towards strangers, Mr. Turner had a calculated air about him that reminded Connor of a fanatic, someone willing to do whatever necessary to achieve a set goal no matter who would suffer for it.

  Connor sighed as a stab of guilt pierced his heart. Had he not done the same? Had he not used Mr. Turner’s obvious desire to rid himself of his niece in order to gain what he wanted?

  His eyes shifted to his future bride, and he inhaled deeply as he saw the tension in her posture as she forced her features not to betray the emotions that surely raged in her heart. Her hands clasped together, fingernails almost digging into her skin, she stood rigid, her shoulders squared and chin raised, a proud and unyielding spark in her eyes, and yet, the slight tremble in her arms spoke of the chains that had brought her there.

  Looking at her, Connor had to admit that she was a far cry from the fiery woman he had first met. Certainly, she had been distrustful of him, possibly even frightened, but he had seen the will to fight in her eyes that day in the clearing. Now, however, resignation rested heavily on her shoulders, threatening to crush her.

  In or
der to have what he wanted, Connor had ignored her wishes and forced her hand, and in that moment as she stood before him, defiantly keeping her eyes from meeting his, Connor felt disgusted with himself.

  All he could do now was make amends and hope that he hadn’t destroyed the spark that had drawn him to her to begin with.

  As the curious whispers behind him grew louder, Connor cleared his throat, glancing at his family, who was eyeing his future bride with open perusal while she herself pretended they did not exist.

  Sighing, Connor bowed his head to her. “Allow me to introduce ye to my family,” he began, and for the first time, Henrietta raised her eyes and met his.

  A jolt went through Connor at the flicker that seemed to span the distance between them, reminding him why he had felt compelled to have her for his wife. Never before had a woman affected him quite like this. It went beyond physical attraction and desire. Whenever their eyes met, it was as though something flowed over him, weakening and strengthening him at the same time.

  Connor knew that giving his heart to another would make him more vulnerable in many ways, and yet, it also made him feel as though he had not lived before, as though now that he had met her, his life was only just beginning. His senses seemed more alert as though he was seeing the world for the very first time.

  Connor swallowed, and she averted her eyes as quickly as she had raised them.

  Continuing with his introductions, Connor presented his mother, his great-uncle, various aunts and cousins, some more distant than others, but all living in Greyston and surroundings. The words flowed from his lips of their own accord for his eyes only saw her as she stood in the large hall, a hint of loss in her pale, blue gaze. Was she disheartened to be so far away from her family? Although she did not seem overly attached to her aunt and uncle, Connor knew from his enquiries that she had a brother, and he wondered why he hadn’t accompanied them.

  Once all introductions had been made, he had Greyston’s butler escort them to their chambers in order to get some well-deserved rest after their long journey. For that very night, a festive celebration was planned in order to welcome Greyston’s new mistress and present her to its people.